Another Time, Another Place
by WolfKael
Summary: AU Fic, and not my best. "Foolish Ma Chère…another time, maybe…another place…" Seras and two other women are kidnapped while abroad, only to be rescued by none other than the charming Captain Bernadotte and his flock. Two-shot...unless I decide otherwise. Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Hellsing or anything else referenced in this fanfic.


**A/N: So I wanted to make it a one-shot, but it might be a two-shot instead. Enjoy!**

_I told you; don't waste your tears on a mercenary. You lost those pretty blue eyes of yours trying to save me. Heh, you lost your arm too…what a waste. Foolish Ma Chère…another time, maybe…another place…you're a rare woman, Seras._

_I die, so that she can live?_

_…__alright…_

-BREAK-

It smells.

_Awful_.

Seras suppresses a gag before even opening her eyes, only to learn that she sees nothing, save for perhaps a little light that seeps through the weave of the burlap sack over her head.

_How did I get into this mess?_

She's just the daughter of a simple police officer. No political power or influence. While she'd originally planned to follow in her father's footsteps, she'd instead thrown herself into charity work, helping third-world countries build homes and schools. Blue-collar work, often seen as 'unfitting' for a woman, but what does she care? She's been happy since she quit the academy.

Until this moment, anyhow.

Despite her attempts not to gag, the sack over her head tells her that someone _has_ in the past. The truck she's been unceremoniously thrown into rolls over harsh roads, each rotation of the wheels jostling her body black-and-blue.

She'd been stuffing insulation into the walls when she first heard the gunshots. She rushed outside, a hammer clenched in her hand, but it was of little use. She'd managed to hit _one_ of the attackers, but she'd taken a heavy hit to the back of her head – the back of someone's gun?

Either way, her head throbs with every squeak of the axel.

Finally, after what seems like forever, the truck slams to a stop, and she's roughly lifted from her spot on the floor. She doesn't bother fighting back – her legs are tied, she's smart enough to know she won't be going anywhere fast…except for her grave, perhaps.

Liz, one of her fellow volunteers, squeaks somewhere behind her. Their abductors laugh at her obvious discomfort.

The burlap is only removed once they're all dropped off in a small, wooden cabin, and their ropes are exchanged for chains. The small, square window is boarded over, with only a few small holes punched in – as though to let in oxygen for their new pets.

"S-Seras?" Liz whispers quietly, still afraid to speak.

"It's okay, Liz," she smiles, "If they wanted us dead, they would've killed us already."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she sniffs.

"We'll be okay," she assures, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder, "I promise."

She nods, pushing her glasses back up, "Okay…"

"They're totally going to _rape_ us," Cheryl snorts from further away, "Why wouldn't they?"

"Cheryl!" Seras hisses in alarm, her blue eyes darting back to the still-trembling schoolteacher.

"Men are pigs, Lizzie. Prepare yourself."

"_Cheryl!_" Seras yells, "Shut _up_!"

Liz begins to sob, curling in on herself. Seras wraps her arms around her, sending an accusatory glare towards her instigator, who continues to stare glumly at the window.

-BREAK-

_"__S-s-so we request a sum of…" _the brunette cries, trembling viciously. Her tremors make it even harder to read the little paper she holds in her hand.

"So who is she?"

"Elizabeth Clarkson. She went as a teacher."

"The blondes?"

"The one with long hair is Cheryl Taylor. She went to translate," the general replies, "the final one is Seras Victoria. She was helping with construction."

The councilman nods in understanding, "We already have some military operatives in the area?"

"They have another mission to accomplish – we can't compromise it," the first answers, "They've already done some basic reconnaissance. It'd take them a while to come up with a plan that keeps them from losing any men. More importantly, it'd blow their cover."

"So what do you propose, General?"

"Mercenaries, Sir," he replies simply.

The councilman begins to laugh, "Hiring Private Military Contractors seems a bit…expensive for three women."

"I didn't say anything about PMCs," the general snorts, "I said _mercenaries._"

"I didn't know that many existed outside of…official channels," he raises an eyebrow.

"It's a small group, but it's been around for a long time – some say that it hasn't vanished since it first appeared in the sixteenth century. A rumor, I'm sure, but they _do_ have a history and reputation if you know the field."

The councilman waits.

"They're called The Wild Geese. As long as you keep your end of the contract and pay them on time, they _never_ break their word. Ever," he drops a file on the table, which the councilman begins to peruse.

"Their captain is Pippen Bernadotte, Frenchman. He's famous in mercantile circles – a mercenary of pedigree. Men in his family have been in the business for _generations_. It's in his blood."

"Have you met him?"

"I have. Worked with him a few times," he admits.

"And? Your thoughts?"

"He's exactly the type of commander you want for operations with high stakes and low chances," he answers, "The Wild Geese are _proud_ of their occupation, and fiercely loyal to their captain; with good reason. Bernadotte can inspire men in the worst situations. He doesn't do it by spinning pretty stories of survival, he does it by telling them that if they die, they die _as warriors_. They die in the glory of battle; and you know what? They just laugh and say that old age was for cowards anyway, and then follow him into the worst firefights with a smile."

"What you're telling me is that they're bloodthirsty fools," he snorts.

"Bloodthirsty fools who once obliterated eighty-percent of enemy forces without losing a single man. They were hired by _Hellsing_, for goodness' sakes!"

The councilman coughs, choking on the water he'd been drinking, "_Hellsing?!_ Are you telling me–"

"Yes, Councilman," Integra Hellsing steps from the shadows, "We already have them in the area for a job, and I'm willing to lend them to you…provided that you're willing to fund their next payment, that is. They're reasonable rates, I assure you. I've already discussed this with Captain Bernadotte, and he's waiting near the camp for his orders."

"A…job?"

"They finished just the other day," she smiles wickedly, "I asked them to delay their departure for your sake. You can trust them, Councilman. Captain Bernadotte is a professional, through and through."

"…I can't have anyone drawing attention to the operations we already have in place–"

"Oh, Councilman," she laughs, "What makes you think that there will be anyone _left_ to disrupt your plans?"

-BREAK-

A soft hiss disrupts her sleep, and she becomes aware of the two thuds that follow. Moonlight pours in through the door as it creaks open. Two figures are dragged inside and dropped by the doorway. A mask drops to the floor, and a hand unwinds a braid from his neck. His face is soon illuminated by the warmth of a lighter.

"Hostages found," he whispers into a radio, his voice laced with a light French accent, "keep them off of us until we reach the treeline."

_"__And then what, Captain?"_

His face splits in a smile, "Obliterate them."

The voices on the other side laugh, and he takes another drag of his cigarette.

"No need to fear, _mes belle dames_," he smiles, crouching to snatch the keys from one of the fallen guards, "We're the good guys," he spins the keys on a finger as he calmly approaches.

"I'd prefer something a bit more descriptive," Seras frowns, placing herself in front of Liz.

"Ah, how rude of me," he smiles, unlocking her shackles and holding out a hand, "Pip Bernadotte, Captain of The Wild Geese. It is a pleasure to meet you, Seras Victoria. Now, wake the other two and free them. I'll keep watch," he stands, drawing a pistol and screwing a silencer in place.

He stands by the cracked door, watching with his gun at the ready. The moonlight cuts a line of light across his face, clearly illuminating the patch over his left eye. The only other source of light is the small burning embers of his cigarette.

"Who…?" Liz shivers.

"He's the captain of The Wild Geese," Seras answers simply.

Cheryl glares, "Not any military branch _I_ know of," she growls.

"That's because we're mercenaries," he answers quietly from his post by the door.

"_Mercenaries?!_" Liz squeaks.

"We were already in the area under orders by Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing. We'd finished our mission when she ordered that we help out," he grins and winks, "Of course, The Wild Geese could never abandon three pretty girls to a rough bunch like this to begin with. Are you all ready to run for it?"

"B-but they have guns…"

"Not a problem," he presses the button on his headset, "Alright, Ladies, get your tails moving! Create a scene on the North side of the compound. Squad B, stay where you are and provide cover fire," he laughs, "Give anyone who tries to come after me an extra–!"

_"__Yes, Captain!"_

He bites down on the filter of his cigarette and beckons them to the door. Seras leans in, so she can see where he's pointing.

"See those trees?" he whispers in her ear.

She nods.

"Give the girl a hello, Johnny," he whispers, and a red light blinks twice from the darkness, "That's where you'll be running, _Ma Chère_. I'll be right behind you. No matter what happens, you just keep running for Johnny's arms, alright?" he winks, his eye – a breathtaking emerald green – sparkling in the moonlight.

"I think I'd rather stay out of them," she snorts, earning a chuckle.

The sound of an explosion rocks the night air, and he ushers the girls out in front of him. Seras sprints towards the trees. She can hear their captors shouting, and her heart squeezes in her chest when the gunfire starts.

Liz screams, and she glances back.

"Just keep going!" Captain Bernadotte snarls, hauling the fallen schoolteacher over his shoulders without pausing. She'd apparently tripped. Bullets smack to the earth where she'd laid only a few seconds before.

Gunshots crack from the trees, and she can hear someone cry out, silencing at least one weapon.

Just within the bushes, she finds Cheryl – who had bolted past Seras while she'd paused to worry about Liz – and a handful of men in fatigues. They shuffle her further back, away from the perimeter, and turn to their captain, who places the trembling Liz on her feet.

"Liz!" Seras shouts, "Are you okay?" she scans her friend head-to-toe.

"Y-yeah, a little scraped up from when I fell, but I'm okay," she smiles.

"Captain!" one of the men shouts.

"Don't worry about it," she can hear him snarl from the crowd around him, "We can deal with it later! Everyone, pull back to safety," he waves a detonator in his hand, "It's time we level this place!"

They cheer, marching further into the underbrush – followed by several ground-shaking explosions – until they find the humvees. The men pile in tightly, save for one, where the only people in the back are the three women, Captain Bernadotte, and one other man, who seems to be the medic.

"Captain…" he growls, opening the first aid kit in his lap.

"We can tend to it back at camp," he dismisses, "It went through-and-through."

"_What_ went through-and-through?" Liz questions.

Seras leaps from her seat and pulls back the corner of his jacket, revealing the dark stain spreading across his white t-shirt, "You were hit!" she frowns.

"It happens," he shrugs, shifting his cigarette to the other side of his mouth.

The medic snaps on his gloves and pulls the corner of the shirt up, revealing the injury. All of the blood drains from Liz's face, her eyes wide.

"It doesn't look like it hit anything vital," he comments as he cleans, "You're a lucky man, Captain."

"How do you think I'm still alive? Skill?" he snorts sarcastically.

"You…" Liz swallows.

"Don't worry about it," he smiles, "Just relax. You'll pass out at this rate," he winces as the humvee hits a particularly deep pothole.

She nods slowly, closing her eyes and curling up on the seat. Seras waits until she's asleep to lock her gaze on the captain.

"You got that when you paused to save Liz," she states simply, "Didn't you?"

"Does it really matter?" he yawns.

She has to admit – she'd been impressed. He'd lifted the teacher with a single arm, which was no small feat – even with her diminutive stature. She's even more impressed, realizing that he did it while taking a bullet.

The radio hisses to life, and a vulgar song begins to play. Seras feels heat rushing to her face.

_"__This'll get the captain feeling better in no time!"_ one of the men cackles.

He laughs back, regretting the pain in his side, but begins to sing the lyrics.

_No,_ Seras grimaces, _he's _leading_ them._

"Told you men are pigs," Cheryl smirks, enjoying her mortification.

"Th-th-this is sexual harassment!" Seras yells, covering the sleeping Liz's ears with her hands.

He just grins wider and keeps leading the song.

The medic joins in on the chorus.

"Stop!"

_"__But it's good for you, good for you!"_

-BREAK-

_"__So it seems that there were no survivors, the hostages are safe, and everything is packed and ready for the return trip?"_

Seras listens carefully to the woman over the radio. Her voice is steady and controlled, cold, even.

"Yes, Sir Integra," Captain Bernadotte answers, "Seems we've cleaned the entire area."

He doesn't joke or tease with her, she's noticed. He's pure business in the presence of the secretive head of the Hellsing family.

_"__Coucilman Weathers is contributing towards your pay this month, as agreed. Since I have a little extra cash, I've invested it in a little gift for you and your boys when you return. A bonus, if you will."_

"That's generous of you," he comments.

_"__Well, I _did_ hire a private army, Captain Bernadotte. It would be poor of me not to give them new toys every once in a while. I'll expect the official report when you arrive."_

"Yes, Milady," he grimaces, and the communication falls silent. He leans back in his chair with a sigh, "I don't understand what you need it for, but you'll get it."

"Look on the bright side, Captain," Johnny smiles, "At least Alucard isn't here. Imagine _that_ report!"

"I'd rather not, thank you," he laughs, "…can I help you, Miss Victoria?"

"…What reason would Sir Hellsing have to help us?" she finally questions.

He shrugs, "Because even that ice-queen feels for her countrymen? Who knows. Not my job to ask questions, _Ma Chère._ I just do what I'm told and get paid for it."

"Please do not call me '_Ma Chère,'_ Captain," she frowns.

He snorts, "You're so stuffy, _Mignonette_."

"My _name_ is Seras."

She can't see his eye from this angle, but she knows he's rolling it.

It's almost two in the afternoon, and most of the mercenaries are still sleeping. The few that aren't are packing, checking supplies, or running patrols in the area. They're scheduled to leave on a jet at eight, after the sun has gone down.

Captain Bernadotte yawns.

"You need some shut-eye, Captain," Johnny smirks, "We can handle things from here. You got shot last night, use the excuse."

He scratches absently at the bandages on his torso, "After nightfall, we do one more patrol to make sure we got _everything_."

"Paranoid much, Captain?" he laughs.

"These things are like roaches," he growls, pushing up the brim of his slouch hat, "If even _one_ of them gets away, we have a problem. We're professionals. Our record is practically golden – I'm not tarnishing it _now_."

Johnny just laughs again, "Got it, Captain. See you after nightfall," he pushes aside the tent flap and vanishes into the sunshine.

Seras studies the captain for a moment, her blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, "…So why do you guys always wait for nightfall, anyway? I mean, last night made sense, but…"

"Most of the work we do for Sir Integra is nocturnal," he answers breezily, standing with a grunt. He whisks off his coat and hangs it on the chair, following it with his hat and scarf. He lays on his cot without even removing his boots.

"…what are like roaches?" she questions.

He pauses for only a moment, "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, _Mignonette,_" a sly smile splits his face, "Now, were you planning to join me? I doubt that Jacques would approve, but…"

She feels her face heat, "Not even in your dreams, Captain Bernadotte!" she screams, picking up the nearest object she can find to throw at him – a coffee mug, which he catches deftly – but storms out before noticing his chuckle.

"I think you underestimate my dreams."

She blinks in the bright sunlight outside, her teeth grinding together.

"Perfect timing!" Johnny jogs up, "I just remembered – you were in the police academy for a while, right?"

"…yes…" she answers cautiously.

"So you know how to fire a gun?"

"What, do you want to recruit me?" she snorts.

"I'll leave that to the captain," he grins, "Here. I figure at least one of you girls should have something," he offers a Glock nine-millimeter, "Everyone else here does…" he fidgets a little, his cheeks pink, "Miss Clarkson seems a bit…nervous. Maybe it'll help for a friendly face to have something, you know?"

She frowns, but takes it, "She's far too good for men like you."

He laughs, "Yeah, I know," he hands her an extra clip, "You should probably rest up too. Not much here for you to do, unless you like dirty magazines and gambling," he wags his eyebrows and vanishes around the corner of a tent, shouting to someone about being careful with something.

She hopes she misheard him mention the claymores.

She clips the holster to her belt and continues to the tent set aside for the three women. Liz's head snaps to the flap when she enters, her body tensed for flight, only to relax when she realizes who it is.

"Hey, Liz," she smiles, looking around, "Where's Cheryl?"

"Cleaning our pockets!" Someone moans. She exits the tent again, looking around the side. A table and chairs are set up. Cheryl sits with the mercenaries, grinning maniacally. Cash of various denominations is piled beside her, along with someone's watch.

"At this rate, I'll be taking your underpants," Cheryl smirks, "Wash 'em first, okay?"

"If you want us naked, you only have to ask," one of them chuckles.

"Now, now, boys," she smiles back, "I have standards."

She's gotten along famously with the mercenaries since last night, only amused by their antics rather than flustered.

"Like what?" one of them snorts back, "Dinner first?"

"That could be arranged," one of them winks.

"_Please_," she laughs, "A _mule_ wouldn't look twice at any one of you."

"Argh!" one of them cries dramatically, "It's _the captain!_" he swears, "He always ruins _everything_!"

They all laugh.

"–that pretty face of his!" he continues.

"Really? I think it's the hair," one of them suggests.

"Ah, yes, the flowing chestnut locks! Always the favorite of the women!"

"He's such a prissy little girl," another snickers.

"What does that say about _you_? That 'prissy little girl' can whip your–"

"Can we just say _everything_?" Cheryl grins, "The hair, the face, the eyes–"

"_Eye_," the first corrects with a wry smile, "Just one, remember?"

"_Eye_," she continues coyly, "besides, you know what they say about Frenchmen…"

"He's also Swedish," one of them snorts, "No relation to the royal family, of course."

"Not one close enough to matter, anyway."

Seras leaves them to their joking and reenters the tent with a yawn. Liz jumps again.

"Relax, Liz," she laughs, "They're perverts, but they won't jump you. If they try…" she rests a hand on the holster, "…I'll shoot them. Get some rest, okay?"

"Thanks, Seras…" she smiles, laying back on her cot. This tent was originally Jacques's – the medic of the group – but after treating Captain Bernadotte, they'd relinquished it to the girls.

Seras lays back on her own cot, closing her eyes. The Glock sits beside her pillow.

Just in case.

-BREAK-

Her heart screeches to a halt in her chest. A single, emerald eye meets hers, and the subtle scent of aftershave – is it? She's not really sure, it _could_ be her imagination beneath the cigarette smoke – wafts to her nose.

"_Bonsoir, Ma Chère,_" he grins wickedly. He's propped over her with an elbow, looking…_awfully_ smug.

Her heart resumes full-force, a scream tearing from her lips as she bolts upright.

"You—what-!?" she splutters, beginning to shove him away until she tangles her hands in his scarf, "_What did you do?!_"

"Nothing, _Mignonette,_" he raises his one hand in surrender – the other clutches his injured side, "I'm just waking you up. Granted, I _am _enjoying the view, but…"

"What _view_?" she hisses, following his eye.

A quick note to those who wear short skirts – they are _not_ recommended when fighting with French mercenary captains.

"I was hoping for something a bit more daring," he smirks.

The blood boils to her face, and she snaps her knees together. Her hands clench in embarrassment.

He watches her for a moment longer before standing, "We're getting ready to leave. We need to pack this tent up. You can go back to sleep in one of the humvees," he lights a cigarette. Even in this short span of time, she's learned he goes through _a lot_ of them.

"I'll help pack."

"No you won't," he retorts, "Go rest, _Ma Chère_."

"If anyone should be resting, Captain, it's _you_," she places her hands on her hips with a frown.

"You make too much of a fuss," he smirks, "I'll begin to think you _care_, _Mignonette._"

"You seem to care too little," she snorts, "What if it reopens? What if it gets infected?!"

"What if the bullet had gone through my head? Eh, _c'est la vie,_" he shrugs.

"…Seras?" Liz rubs at her eyes sleepily.

"Sorry, Liz," she smiles, "Come on."

"Okay," she yawns, muttering something about wanting to be back in Britain as soon as possible.

"Captain! It's time for the final patrol!" Johnny declares, poking his head through the flap.

"Got it," he responds, "I'll head out with you."

"But-your…!"

"What is with this incessant worrying?!" Pip sighs, "I'm fine. _Allons-y!_" He strides away, barking more orders.

Johnny laughs and shakes his head, noticing Seras's frustration, "Don't worry about him, Miss. He's usually pretty laid-back, but he's not the type to let himself be treated like an invalid. I'd be worried if he actually took it easy. Besides…" he sobers, "this job…"

"What were you guys doing out here, anyway?"

"Not much," he smirks, "Just hunting monsters."

"…monsters?"

"Johnny!" Pip shouts, "I know you don't get to talk to other women much, but we have work to do!"

"Yes, Captain!" he laughs and winks at the girls, "See you later, ladies."

-BREAK-

_Monsters, huh?_

She looks up at the grey sky overhead. It's been more than a week since she'd returned home, but she can't stop wondering what he'd been referring to. It shouldn't matter anymore –should it?

"The Wild Geese?" her father mutters, scratching at the stubble on his face, "They were hired by Sir Hellsing, if I recall. Don't know why – then again, she's always been paranoid about security, so…" he shrugs.

"Have you met them?" she turns her eyes back to him.

"I run in to them now and then," he answers, "When the boys take me drinking with them. They're a bit raunchy and a loud bunch…but they don't cause problems. Whenever they do, their captain – Bernadotte, you said? – steps in before we have to get involved…" he sips at his tea.

"Well, isn't that nice?" Seras snorts, "Didn't think you'd have something so positive to say about a bunch of killers…"

"They're honest," he replies simply.

"I don't think _'mercenaries'_ and _'honest'_ are typically used in the same sentence, Papa."

"But they are," he begins, "Nowadays, 'mercenaries' are called PMCs, and are typically under government contracts – contracts often obtained by buying some politician. This makes them political in nature…because of the stigma given to the term 'mercenary', many will insist that PMCs are _not_ mercenaries, but…" he shrugs, "The Wild Geese will look at you in the face and tell you that _yes,_ they're mercenaries. They don't get involved in politics. They're not run by some board of directors filled with men who know nothing of warfare, and whose agendas are more than they let on…they're run by a single man who makes it very clear that he has _two_ intentions; to make money and to live. End of story."

"Three; go whoring with women. _Very_ important detail, _Monsieur!_"

"Right," he nods absently.

Seras freezes for a moment before craning her neck over her shoulder.

Captain Bernadotte grins his most brazenly at the counter, sipping at an amber glass.

"Speak of the devil, and so he shall appear…" she hisses.

Her father rises from his seat, "It's good to officially meet you, Captain Bernadotte. Thank you…for helping my daughter," he offers a hand after swallowing the crack in his voice.

"They were our orders," Pip shrugs, ignoring the hand, taking a sip of his drink instead, "But I'm glad we could help."

"An honest man," he laughs, retracting his hand and looking pointedly at his daughter,_ See?_

"…how is your injury, Captain?" she asks icily.

"Are you _still_ fretting, _Mignonette?_" he smirks, "Perhaps, if you're so worried, you'd like to inspect me yourself?"

Her hand clamps around her steak knife. He notices – she can _see_ it. She can feel the heat rising in her face. _Don't throw it, don't throw it…don't lose your temper in front of Dad…_

It embeds itself neatly in the wall, six inches from the Frenchman's ear – and he still looks as smug as before. She curses him silently, ignoring the look of shock from her father.

He reaches up and pulls it out, kissing the blade, "Careful, _Ma Chère, _or I'll fall in love."

"_Seras_…!"

She stands, storming from the café before she gets angrier, her flustered father hurriedly paying the bill and following her out. Captain Bernadotte explodes into laughter that can be heard even in the street.

"Seras!" her father shouts, "What…?!"

"I don't _know_!" she snarls back, "He just…he gets under my skin. I don't even know _why_!" They cross an intersection as she moans in fury, "I just…there's this…feeling…like he just sits back and laughs at me. At _everything_. I can't _stand_ people like him! They never take _anything_ seriously! Even things that _should_ be!"

Her father listens in silence for a moment, "…like his own health?"

"_Exactly!_" she answers without thinking.

"…So what you're saying is that you _are_ worried about him."

"I-no! No! Why would I be-?! _Worried?! _About _him?!_" she stammers, her heart leaping in her chest.

"It certainly sounds like it…"

"_Never!_"

**A/N: The author himself has confirmed Pip to be of Swedish/French origin. Just FYI, though I imagine he also has some Irish in him as well.**


End file.
